


Ignis, the Magic Hat Extraordinaire

by Allubttoa



Series: The Cost of Magic and the Price of Duty [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, BAMF!Ignis, Can be read as a stand alone, Devious!Ignis, Fluff, Ignis!POV, M/M, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Problem child Noctis, Problems with authority, Slice of Life, gratuitous knitting references, minor issues of disabilities, seriously, though it is technically a For Duty side story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 17:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14525247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allubttoa/pseuds/Allubttoa
Summary: When he told Noctis, "I suppose I will simply have to sit here then," what he meant was, I love you.Or the tale of Ignis's and Noct's friendship told through the healing power of knitting and sticking it to the man.





	Ignis, the Magic Hat Extraordinaire

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing a very dramatic Ignoct scene in _For Us_ and thinking obsessively about their relationship and this is the result. You're welcome, I guess. :P 
> 
> This takes place about a month after the daemon attack. 
> 
> *No warnings other than a general discussion of PTSD and some mistreatment of someone with a disability. Also a child wets the bed accidentally at one point.

*** 

Ignis began working at the Citadel when he was still at the University. He was twelve years old at the time. His parents expected him to cultivate influence and eventually work for the state, thus benefiting their family. Ignis was an investment. 

One of the last classes he ever had, he was sitting near the front, diligently taking notes, when a strange man entered the lecture room from a side door. The man’s gaze roved over the room until he met Ignis’s sharp eyes. Then he curled his fingers back in a clear motion. 

Ignis gathered his things, meeting the man outside the door. The stranger was a tall, gaunt looking man, head shaven and eyes a severe grayish blue. He wore the royal black, indicating he was somehow associated with the Citadel. “Ignis Scientia?” the man asked, looking Ignis up and down. At Ignis’s nod, he introduced himself. “My name is Clarus Amicitia.” 

Ignis had to fight to keep a neutral expression. _Amicitia._ Everyone knew that name, that it belonged to the Shield, Councilor to the king, and head of the Crownsguard. He lowered his head into a respectful bow. “What can I do for you, Councilor Amicitia?” 

The Shield did not answer Ignis immediately. After a long searching moment, he said, “Walk with me, Master Scientia.” Then he strode away without looking back. Glad that he had already grabbed his bags, Ignis scrambled to follow. 

“I’ve heard that you’re the youngest person ever to graduate from the university,” the Shield commented when Ignis had caught back up to him. 

“Not yet,” replied Ignis. “Not for another couple of weeks.” 

“Hmn.” They walked in silence for a few more minutes. Ignis wasn’t sure if they actually had a destination or if the man was simply walking. “Your parents must be very proud of you,” suggested the Shield. 

Ignis had no real idea if his parents were proud of him or not. He didn’t truly care. He had never been a needy child, and they had never been particularly attentive. “I’m sure they are,” Ignis answered, keeping his tone diplomatically neutral. 

Still, the Shield glanced over sharply at Ignis’s reply as if the man were surprised by it. “Hmnn.” 

Something about that grated at Ignis. Harsher than he intended, he asked, “Might I inquire as to what this is about, Councilor Amicitia?” 

The man snorted. He still seemed strangely amused by the young teenager. “I've been told that you have some Elemancy skills.” 

Ignis blinked at that. It was true, he did possess some minor magical talent, but nothing special, and certainly nothing worth a visit from the Shield to the King himself. “I do,” he confirmed. 

“And you’ve mastered that talent?” The Shield’s tone was bland, his gaze seemingly uninterested, but Ignis was not fooled in the slightest. 

“There’s always room for improvement,” replied the teen. “But I’ve not had an accident since I was a young child if that’s what you’re asking. My teacher felt I have satisfactory control over my ability.” 

The Shield stopped walking. They stood in the quad, next to an ancient, sagging tree. He turned, lowering his gaze until he was looking Ignis directly in the eyes. “Master Scientia, your teacher told me that she had never seen another person achieve magical control so quickly and so young. She called you a prodigy. Said it was a shame that your talent was so minor.” 

Ignis’s teacher had been a member of his family’s estate far away from the capital city. He had no idea how this man had tracked her down or for what purpose. Just to ask about him? Ignis narrowed his own eyes. “I haven’t spoken to her in years.” 

“She also said that you bore very quickly,” Amicitia added with a small quirk in his lip. “Makes me wonder what plans you have for after you graduate.” 

“I don't have any concrete plans as of yet,” Ignis admitted unwillingly. His parents wanted him to simply further the family influence. He felt called for something—more. 

The Shield nodded, then changed the topic suddenly. “You’ve met Prince Noctis, have you not?” 

“I have.” 

“And?” asked Councilor Amicitia. “What did you think of him?” 

Prince Noctis was eight and very ill. It was common knowledge that the attack by the Marilith daemon a month ago had left him without the use of his legs. Ignis sometimes had to bring things to the Prince’s room or deliver messages to his caretakers in his side job as a runner and assistant. “He is allowed too much time to sulk and ruminate,’ Ignis answered, choosing to be brave in his honesty. After all, he had nothing to do with the prince. He did not have to pretend that he thought the sun rose out of the boy’s royal ass, nor did he think the Shield was looking for that. “His silence makes his caretakers assume he is unobservant of the moods and going-ons around him. In reality, he absorbs far too much, and his silence is a retreat.” 

“I asked for what you think of the prince himself, not his caretakers.” 

Ignis shrugged. “I think I don’t know him very well. My observations of the prince are superficial at best.” 

The Shield let out a deep sigh. He rubbed his hand over his cropped hair. “What I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential. Do you understand me?” 

Ignis nodded. “Yes.” 

“Prince Noctis is struggling to control his Elemancy magic at the moment. His own teacher believes it stems from trauma, and thinks that he needs to go back to the basics of control, that he needs to practice. However, the prince is refusing to cooperate with her.” 

Ignis thought he could see where this was going, but he asked anyway. “What does this have to do me, Councilor Amicitia?” 

“I want you to become his practice partner. Convince him to follow his teacher’s direction. He is supposed to practice for at least an hour every day until he regains control of his magic. You would start with him this afternoon.” 

Maybe they hoped that the prince would be more receptive to someone closer to him in age, but Ignis could also see that they were testing him. The Shield had not said anything about Ignis’s youth after the graduation comment, and he had not talked down to Ignis in any way during this conversation. That more than anything else sealed the teenager’s answer. 

“I’m honored by your confidence in me. I’ll do my best.” 

“You might not be so honored after an hour with him,” the Shield muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, “Come on then.” 

Ignis blinked and tensed up. “Now?” 

The man turned back from where he was already walking away. “I said we were starting today didn’t I?” 

Ignis followed him. 

*** 

Clarus drove Ignis to the Citadel in a non-descript black car. He introduced the teenager to the head of the Crownsguard unit in charge of the royal apartments. Clarus led the teenager to a door at the end of an ornately decorated hallway, knocked once, announced himself, then entered without waiting for a response. 

The Prince was in his wheelchair, seated by the balcony door. The glass door was ajar, letting in a soft breeze and the scent of something blooming. A solemn faced man stood in the corner of the room, still as a statue. The prince did not turn his head or acknowledge them in anyway. 

“Prince Noctis,” announced the Shield, “This is Ignis Scientia. I believe you’ve met once or twice. He’s to be your new Elemancy partner.” 

Prince Noctis did not respond, and the Shield seemed to expect that, as he did not wait for a response. He turned, squeezing Ignis’s shoulder on the way out. “Good luck.” 

Then they were alone. 

Well, mostly alone, Ignis amended to himself as he shot a quick glance back at the guard. 

With a sigh, he walked around until he stood in front of the young boy. Prince Noctis was pale, sickeningly so. His hair hung lank and unkempt, a greasy sheen to his skin that spoke of far too long in between baths. But it was his eyes that captured Ignis. They were the brightest, fiercest blue Ignis had ever seen. They flickered up and met Ignis’s before turning away again. The older teen saw how prince meant to portray an unaffected air, limbs purposely relaxed, but he simply could not hide the wildness in his gaze. For all that he sat here meekly, his eyes shouted his rebellion to the world. 

Ignis swallowed. “Hello, Prince Noctis.” 

The prince gave him a silent glance again, then went back to staring at nothing. 

Ignis tried again. He crouched down so he was level with the wheelchair-bound prince. “I’m here to practice your Elemancy with you. I’ve heard you’ve been having some difficulties—.” 

“I’m crippled, not deaf,” the child interrupted, his voice clear and cold as a bell. “I heard Clarus for myself.” It took Ignis a second to realize that ‘Clarus’ was Councilor Amicitia. It was strange to think of this eight-year-old on first name terms with the severe Councilor. The prince looked him up and down. “You’re kinda young, aren’t you?” 

“I’m twelve,” Ignis replied, trying not to visibly bristle. 

The prince seemed to see it anyway though, because he grinned snarkily, and then asked, “What’d the old man promise you for doing this, huh? Convince me to fall in line and get some sleazy political job that’s all money and no work?” 

“I—,” Ignis stumbled, jerking back on his heels. These were words that he would have never expected to come out of an eight-year-old’s mouth. “Nothing. Councilor Amicitia asked me to, and I accepted.” 

The prince snorted. “Then you’re stupid as well as annoying.” And then he refused to say another word. 

Like he promised, Councilor Amicitia came at the end of the appointed hour. He didn’t comment on Ignis sitting stubbornly and impotently in front of the silent prince. Ignis had never felt more humiliated in his life. 

As he was lead out of the Citadel, Ignis attempted to revive his pride somewhat. “I apologize that I was not able to convince him to practice with me, Councilor Amicitia. Perhaps someone with more skills with children would be more appropriate.” 

Amicitia did not seem to be listening to Ignis. “He spoke to you?” the Shield asked abruptly. 

Ignis hesitated, not really wanting to admit that the prince had only to spoken with him to disparage the teen. “He did. It wasn’t particularly—polite.” 

He almost thought he saw the Shield roll his eyes at that. “But he did speak to you.” 

“If you count that as speaking, yes.” 

“Hmn,” said the Shield. Then he quirked his lips at Ignis. “I expect you to be here at the same time tomorrow.” 

Ignis could only stare blankly at the man. Amicitia raised an impatient eyebrow until Ignis finally collected himself enough to say, “Yes. I mean, of course, sir.” 

This time Councilor Amicitia did actually roll his eyes. 

*** 

The next day nothing changed. The prince gave Ignis a few barely polite platitudes, then refused to engage. It was the same the day after that. 

At the end of that third session, however, before Councilor Amicitia could lead him out of the prince’s room, Ignis stopped. He stood, his heart stuttering as he remembered what Prince Noctis had actually chosen to speak to him about the first time he had come here. 

“Councilor Amicitia,” Ignis asked, well aware that they were still within easy earshot of Prince Noctis. 

The Shield turned back around. “Yes, Master Scientia.” 

“We never discussed the terms of my employment here. What you are willing to offer me in exchange for convincing Prince Noctis to practice his magic.” 

The man’s eyes widened ever so slightly, but otherwise he kept a tight hold on his reaction. His gaze went to the prince and back again to Ignis. 

Behind him, Ignis could almost feel the prince’s awareness like a physical force. He refused to look back, keeping his attention boldly on the Shield. 

Amicitia quickly recovered, smoothly asking, “What would you like the terms of this employment to be, Master Scientia?” 

“Make me your apprentice as councilor.” Councilor Amicitia had two roles, one as a member of the King’s Council, and two, as the King’s Shield, the traditional head of the Crownsguard. As Councilor, Amicitia acted as confidant to the King, his representative on the Council when the king was unavailable. He was essentially the King’s political right hand man, and it was one of the most obviously difficult jobs in Lucis. No sleazy political appointment there. 

No surprise showed itself on Amicitia’s face. He nodded slowly, “Provided you complete your task here, I will make you my apprentice on a probationary term. I swear it.” 

Ignis did not look back, even then. “Goodbye Prince Noctis,” he called, then finally followed Amicitia. 

Prince Noctis gave no answer. 

Later that night, Ignis went to the University library and checked out an armful of books on trauma recovery. He started a new section within his notebook and began the laborious task of informing himself of everything there was to know about the topic. 

*** 

The next time Ignis arrived at the prince’s room, the prince spoke to him before Ignis could take his now customary place next to the wheelchair. “Why would you do that? Are you trying to guilt me into doing what you want? It won't work.” 

Ignis cocked his head as the prince trailed off. “You seemed to think I had a secret agenda here, or that I should.” He shrugged. “Now I have an agenda, and it’s not a secret.” 

“You can't trick me into practicing,” spat the prince suspiciously. “I don’t want to.” 

Ignis shrugged again. “Okay.” 

Another few minutes went by. 

“Are you just going to sit there for an hour every day?” 

“Would you like to practice with me?” 

“No.” 

“Then I suppose I will just have to sit here for an hour.” 

*** 

Several days and no progress later, Ignis arrived only to find the prince’s room in total disarray. Guards milled about, and men in work uniforms trailed in and out. The lights flickered ominously, and as Ignis entered the room proper, he saw a swath of destruction. The ceiling was streaked with ash and burn scars, as were what furniture was left. 

“What happened here?” he asked no one in particular. 

One of the Crownsguard answered. “The prince had one of his nightmares.” 

Somehow, even though Ignis had been told that the prince was struggling with his magic, he hadn’t connected it to anything real. After all, Ignis could at most coat his fists in elemental magic, maybe an object he was holding if he had enough built up power. This though, this was terrifying. 

“South wing,” the guard was saying. 

Ignis made himself focus. “What?” he asked. 

“You’re looking for His Highness, right? They moved him to the south wing while they clean this shit up.” 

Ignis gave her a grateful look. “Thank you.” 

The south wing was neutrally decorated, clearly a guest suite. There was no large balcony door here, but the Prince still sat in his wheelchair, facing the window instead. As he saw Ignis approach, the prince turned his head away to stare at his lap. “Are you going to say I told you so?” he mumbled sullenly. 

Ignis took his time sitting down next to the prince, getting himself comfortable. “Would you practice with me if I did?” 

“No.” 

“Then I suppose I will have to simply sit here for an hour instead.” 

That earned Ignis a sharp glance from the prince. “Don’t you have better things to do?” the prince asked. In fact, Ignis could think of plenty of better things he could be doing. But at some point this had become a challenge and Ignis had yet to fail any challenge he put his mind to. 

“Hmn,” Ignis replied, letting the words drag out in suspense. Just sitting here really wasn’t working, but there wasn’t much to do with the wheelchair bound prince who refused any type of group activity. “I suppose I could multitask. Tomorrow I might bring my knitting.” 

To Ignis’s great relief, Prince Noctis seemed intrigued, despite how he tried to hide it. “You knit?” he sneered. “Isn't that like a girl thing?” 

Sometimes Ignis forgot how truly young Prince Noctis was. “It’s a useful skill thing,” he corrected, “I enjoy making hats.” As he spoke, he saw he was losing Prince Noctis’s interest. 

“— _Magic_ hats,” he added on the fly, his mouth circumventing his brain in his desperation. 

“Magic hats?” 

Ignis had no idea what he was doing. “Yes, I could show you tomorrow. Would you like that?” 

Noctis turned away again. “Whatever.” 

After he left that afternoon, Ignis looked up the nearest yarn store and stopped there on his way back to his dorm room. He couldn’t keep the stress out of his voice as he spoke to the woman behind the counter. “I need you to teach me how to knit!” 

One of the books Ignis had read on trauma had talked about the calming and healing effects of hobbies, especially repetitive hobbies such as knitting. He hadn’t really planned out his lie to the prince, and now he was stuck with it. _Why the hell had he promised to bring his knitting tomorrow?_ He could have at least given himself a week. 

The shopkeeper’s eyebrows jumped to her forehead, but she made a soothing motion, pulling out a large pair of needles from under the counter. “All right then,” she said. “Let’s start with the basics.” 

*** 

Ignis had a bag with him as he sat by Prince Noctis the next day. The prince was still in the south wing instead of his usual room. Ignis had stayed up until far too early in the morning, trying to teach himself. He’d even skipped his class that morning in order to keep practicing, the first time he had ever missed a class in his life. And it had been so that he could practice knitting for the Prince of Lucis enough to fake a non-existent talent that he had lied about having. That was his life now, apparently. 

“Would you like to practice your magic today?” he asked the prince. 

The answer was quick, toneless, and altogether unsurprising. “No.” 

“Alright then.” Thus, Ignis proceeded to pull out his new circular needles and a colorful ball of yarn, waving it theatrically in front of the prince. Making sure his motions were easy to follow, Ignis began to cast on stitches with far more competence than he probably deserved. 

As he watched Ignis work, the prince visibly became more and more agitated, until finally he demanded, “Where is the magic?” 

“What do you mean?” Ignis blandly asked. He was knitting in the round now, slowly but surely adding length to his project. 

The prince huffed. “The magic. You said it was magic yarn.” 

“No,” Ignis corrected. “I said it was a magic hat. It is not a hat yet, thus, it doesn’t have magic.” 

“Well, how does it get magic?” 

Ignis grinned. “I’m adding it in as I weave the yarn together. It takes concentration, so I would appreciate it if you would allow me to focus.” 

With that, Ignis ignored the prince’s dumbfounded, almost insulted look and continued shaping his garishly colored ball of yarn into something vaguely cup shaped. 

With nothing but his knitting to concentrate on, Ignis surprisingly managed to pull together a hat by the end of the hour. It hung lopsided, with a rather large hole in one place, but it was still clearly a hat. Ignis held it up for inspection, then handed it to the prince. “Here. This is for you.” 

The prince gave the hat a suspicious look. “I don’t get it. Where’s the magic?” 

“Well, it’s not flashy magic. Not the sort of magic you can see,” Ignis said, watching the prince’s reaction closely. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “This magic is a secret that’s been in my family for generations, and now I’m trusting it to you. There’s a spell on that hat. It helps promote peaceful thoughts and sleep.” 

The prince frowned. 

“What, you don’t believe me?” Ignis asked. “Try if for yourself. I guarantee the quality of my work.” 

“It’s so ugly,” the prince said, dubiously holding up the rainbow colored hat. 

Ignis sniffed, pretending offense. “ _Oh I’m sorry._ I suppose it’s not enough that I made you a magic hat.” He shook his fist in an over the top impression of deep offense. 

The prince let out a tiny, tiny giggle at Ignis’s antics. His eyes widened, and he put his hand over his mouth as if to hide it. _Too late._

“Go on,” Ignis insisted. “Try it.” Rolling his eyes, the prince complied. It truly was the ugliest hat Ignis had ever seen. The knitted cap sat unevenly on the prince’s head, squashing down his unkempt hair. Ignis fought not to laugh as he took in the sight. “Well? You can feel the positive, peaceful thoughts I imbued it with, can't you?” 

The prince bit his lip and frowned. “Maybe?” 

Ignis sniffed again. “Perhaps you’re not fully open to its effects. You have to _allow_ it to do its work, you know.” With that, Ignis bent to begin collecting his things. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, Prince Noctis. If you want, I could teach you how to make magic hats for yourself.” 

“Noctis.” 

Ignis turned around from where he was gathering his bag. “What?” 

“I hate it when the people around me call me prince all the time. Just—Noctis.” 

Ignis hefted his bag to his shoulder. “Goodbye then, Noctis.” 

“See you tomorrow, Ignis.” 

*** 

Noctis turned out to be terrible at knitting. His fingers fumbled. He quickly grew frustrated and lost count of his stitches. Eventually he had a large tangled square thing that was more mangled yarn than stitches. “It’s ruined,” Noctis grumbled, face dark and petulant. 

“Of course not,” Ignis said briskly, snatching the swath from the prince’s hands. “Watch this.” Ignis slid the yarn off the needle, then with a quick jerk, began to crab it, yanking the stitches apart with a satisfying pulling tension. He rolled the yarn as he went. “There, see. Like it never happened.” 

Noctis stared at the ball of yarn with far more intensity than any sort of carded wool deserved. 

The next swath he made was much neater, but when he got to the end of the ball, instead of tying it off, he stared at the knitted square. Then he slid the needles off with a trembling hand and began to crab his work the way Ignis had earlier. Ignis watched him meticulously pull the work apart, eyes narrowed in strange concentration. When Noctis was finished, he looked up to see Ignis watching him. Cheeks a shade of pink, he mumbled, “I don’t know, it’s really satisfying. It feels— _Freeing._ ” 

*** 

Ignis began to spend more and more time at the Citadel as his last semester came to a close. He was already an errand runner and spending an hour every afternoon with Noctis, but he began to chat with the guards before his meetings, to hang out with the Kingsglaive, servants, and other minor players. Some were friendly and welcoming, others suspicious of his age. He played them all against each other, cultivating relationships and information. 

He learned that Noctis had not allowed anyone to help him with his nighttime routines since his nurse had been murdered. The only person who had been able to force him to bathe in the past two months had been the King, and that had required an hour of tantruming and the use of actual magic to hold the prince down. 

Noctis was doing his best to drive his current caretakers away through a mix of apathy, rudeness, and pure hatred. He’s already succeeded with two, and a third was telling anyone who’d listen that she was going to quit any day now. It made his words to Ignis the first day they’d spent together seem sweet in comparison, and also explained why Amicitia had not seemed particularly troubled by Ignis’s failure. 

Part of Ignis wondered why he hadn’t just quit yet himself. Noctis’s toleration of him existed only because they spent most of their time together in silence. Ignis wasn’t anywhere closer to achieving his goal since the first day Councilor Amicitia had spoken to him. 

But every time Ignis left the prince’s room in defeat and told himself that this was it, he was never going back, the next day he would unerringly be packing up books, knitting needles, games, anything he could think of to bring Noctis out of his shell. And every day Noctis would look up at Ignis as he arrived. Every day the prince’s eyes would burn that molten blue, anger and passion begging for release, and every day Noctis would turn away, dully asking Ignis if he planned to sit there for an hour. Then Ignis would ask if today was the day that the prince wanted to practice. Every day Noctis would refuse him, and every day Ignis would respond, then yes, yes he would sit there for an hour. 

One day, Ignis arrived to see the prince fuming. It was a bit difficult to tell, as the prince’s fuming state looked remarkably similar to all his other states, in that he was silently sitting in his wheelchair refusing to interact with anyone. 

“Hello, Noctis,” Ignis greeted. He felt his back and shoulders stiffen in wariness as Prince Noctis’s furious, expressive eyes met his. 

“I don't want to knit or read or whatever bullshit you have today, Ignis,” the prince said dully. 

Ignis’s response slipped out unbidden. “Language,” he automatically admonished. Noctis still surprised him occasionally with his juxtaposition of maturity and childishness. The same eight-year-old who would throw his toys across the room in a tantrum could also recite the first stanza of the Hymn of Ramuh and hold a conversation about domestic politics. And of course, Noctis could swear like a sailor, though Ignis would never understand what awful person had taught him those words. 

The prince did not take kindly to being rebuked. “Make me,” he snarled. 

Ignis blinked at him, thoughts swirling in circles. He was missing something, something he needed to understand or risk losing even the minor progress he had made so far with this traumatized child. “Is that why you’re angry? Is someone trying to force you to do something?” 

Noctis’s face immediately closed off, lips curling into a pout. “I’m not angry,” he muttered sullenly. 

“Right,” Ignis replied, voice as neutral as he could make it. 

“I’m not,” the prince insisted louder. “I don’t care what that hag does. She can't control me. She can't make me do anything.” 

Ignis let himself settle down next to the prince, choosing to stare out the window rather than crowd the younger child. “I doubt anyone can make you do anything. You’re rather stubborn that way. If I may ask, who is this—hag? What is she trying to do?” 

“My tutor,” the prince eventually answered. His voice was hesitant, like he didn't quite trust Ignis with this information. “I didn’t learn my multiplication tables like I was supposed to.” 

“What did she do?” 

“She talked to my dad,” Prince Noctis admitted. Now his voice sharpened, the anger showing through like barbed wire in his words. “Told him that I needed more discipline than I was getting, and that I needed to really feel my punishments to make them stick. That he should take away something I really cared about.” Noctis stumbled over the word discipline. 

Ignis did not have to fake his concern. “What did they take away?” he asked softly. 

Noctis was desperately trying to sound like he didn’t care. He failed miserably. “My books. My dad buys the new Beor comic every week and reads it to me.” 

Ignis frowned. He had not realized that the prince would care so much about a simple comic book, not when he had every toy and game system ever made at his fingertips. The Beor comics were for young children, and Noctis was fast outgrowing that demographic. 

Noctis spoke again. “She thinks she can break me, that I’ll beg her for forgiveness and finally let her mold me or whatever.” He snorted mirthlessly. “I won't.” 

Ignis turned and looked at Noctis’s profile next to him. The prince was staring into the sunlight, eyes far harder than any eight-year-old’s had the right to be. “No, I don't think you will,” Ignis said slowly. 

For some reason, those words caused Noctis to swivel back to him, turning his anger suddenly on the older teen. “What do you care anyway?” Noctis demanded. “You’re just the same as her. I thought you were cool at first, not some stiff grown up, but you’re just like all the others.” 

Ignis couldn’t let the hurt show on his face. “Am I?” he asked, keeping his voice just as soft as before. Noctis huffed a breath, and Ignis said incredibly carefully, “I don’t think I’m a very normal twelve-year-old, that’s true. Just like you’re not a very normal eight-year-old. But I didn’t think that bothered you.” He cocked his head at the younger child. “Was I wrong?” 

Noctis glared at him, but didn’t answer. 

Ignis added, “You’re going about your battle all the wrong way though.” 

“Oh yeah? You would think that,” Noctis snorted unkindly. “I can't beat the grownups, and I’m just hurting myself, right? Bitterness is the poison that gets you even as you use it against others?” 

Ignis wondered just who was spouting these platitudes at the young prince. They were clearly doing a terrible job. “No. You’re misunderstanding me. I’m saying if you want to beat her at her own game, then you’re going about it all wrong.” He wondered vaguely if this was a good idea. After all, he didn’t know this woman. She could be perfectly nice, and Noctis could be being perfectly bratty and intractable. If anything, that was the most likely scenario. 

For the first time today, Noctis looked at Ignis with curiosity. That look sealed the deal for Ignis. “How?” asked the prince. 

Ignis’s answering grin was positively wicked as he leaned closer. “Think, Noctis. The way to defeat anyone is to figure out what they want, and then crush that dream so hard they’ll never pick themselves up again. So tell me this, what is your tutor’s goal?” 

“To control me,” the prince answered bitterly. 

Ignis shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. That is perhaps a means to her goal. _Why_ does she want to control you?” 

The eight-year-old bit his lip. “She’s famous or something for teaching. She came all the way from Altissia to be my tutor. She likes it when people know who she is, and she likes being the smartest person in the room. I’m her latest project, and she thinks if she can tutor me into smartness or whatever, then she’ll officially be the best teacher there ever was.” 

As someone who has always loved to learn with an insatiable passion, this description of the prince’s tutor almost made Ignis quail. “Well you see,” he said, biting down his anger at this tutor he hadn’t even met, “You’ve realized something important. Her goal isn’t to help you learn, but to be the one to have made you learn. There’s a difference. Do you see it?” 

Noctis’s eyes narrowed as he thought. Ignis waited with patience, until the prince said hesitantly, “If I learn some other way that doesn’t involve her or her punishment, then she’s failed.” 

_“Exactly,”_ said Ignis. 

*** 

Ignis and Noctis tried to keep what they were doing a secret. They began spending far more time together, though it cut into Ignis’s other obligations. Noct’s room was finally repaired, and they began to sit on the prince’s balcony with the glass door closed behind them to keep the guards from listening. The first time Ignis suggested it, Noctis frowned and muttered, “People can see from the garden out there. I don’t like it.” 

Ignis just looked at him and pointed out, “But they can't hear you, and that’s what’s important isn’t it?” 

Councilor Amicitia commented soon after on how Ignis had managed to convince Noctis to actually go outside, but Ignis just shrugged and admitted that Noctis still wasn’t allowing him to practice magic with him, but that he felt he was making progress anyway. The Shield had nodded and then said no more on the subject. 

On the balcony, Ignis and Noctis went through a curriculum far too advanced for someone Noctis’s age. Ignis quickly found that the eight-year-old had talent and the ability to learn, but that he frustrated quickly, and gave up when the answers did not immediately come to him. 

But every time the prince would begin to throw a fit, Ignis would quietly remind him of why they were doing this. Noctis would frown a little frown and then ask Ignis to please repeat whatever he had been saying as if Noctis had never thrown his hands up in the first place. Ignis would smile to himself, but keep going as if nothing had happened. 

Ignis’s exams at the university happened, and he received the first B he had ever gotten in his life. At that point, he had barely been attending class, choosing instead to create lesson plans in his free time. He came up with games for memorizing multiplication tables, adapting dominoes and cards and creating his own colorful flash cards. 

Ignis did not have a lot of his own money. He earned some from his runner job at the Citadel and had an allowance from home, but they were both small. Ignis had to take the bus or train from the University to the Citadel every day, and now he was spending more and more money at the crafts store. Normally he ate at the school cafeteria because it was convenient compared to the dorms, but to compensate his new expenses, he began to buy cheap ingredients in bulk, learning how to creatively turn beans and rice into something edible. He found he liked cooking, but especially baking. He liked the calm concentration it took; the way he could keep it separate from everything else. 

Ignis wasn’t sure what he would do when the summer was over. He had officially graduated, and though he was allowed to stay in the dorms until the next fall classes began, he still had no guaranteed job lined up. His side job at the Citadel was both boring and inadequate to support himself with. He had no desire to go back home to his parent’s country estate. There was nothing there for him, no challenge, nothing to learn or change, and his parents wanted him to stay in the Crown City regardless. They were already demanding to know what political job he had earned for himself or whether he intended to continue his education with another degree. Though he distracted them with platitudes where he could, Ignis knew it couldn't last. Soon he would have to answer to them. 

Noctis continued to have nightmares and accidents with his elemental magic. Everyone knew at this point what Ignis’s job was supposed to be, and he either received looks of pity that someone so young was burdened with such an enormous task or looks of disgust that he seemed to be in no way actually trying. Ignis ignored them all. Noctis still had his regular magic teacher, though he refused to interact with her in the same way he refused his academic tutor. 

Things remained at a steady constant, until one afternoon Ignis arrived to see Noctis not in his wheelchair as usual, but in bed. The wheelchair was rolled out of easy reach, next to the dresser. The guard in the corner seemed uncomfortable. His eyes flickered to Ignis, and he made a face like he was trying to say something without actually saying it. As Ignis approached the bed, he smelled something sour and ammonia-like. The prince was rolled over on his side, arms curled tightly around himself. 

He had pissed himself. 

“Prince Noctis?” Ignis asked warily. 

“Go away,” a tiny voice commanded. 

Ignis did not go away. “Where is your nurse?” he asked instead, stepping closer to the bed. 

Noctis flipped himself around. He eyes were red rimmed, face wild and angry. “I order you to go away!” 

Ignis refused to flinch. “You can't order me to go away. You don't have that power over me. Not yet.” 

Ignis had expected some lashing out in response to his refusal. He had even expected something physical as the prince was well known for his fist slamming tantrums. But what he did not expect was for the prince to snarl like a feral animal. Noctis pounded his fist against the bed, and like an approaching storm, the air pressure in the room suddenly tightened. Ignis tasted the tang of electricity on his next inhale, and before he could decide what to do, a jagged blast of lighting arched out of the prince’s fists, missing Ignis by inches. The lightening gravitated to a nearby lamp, making it crackle with an explosion of sparks. 

This time, Ignis did in fact flinch. The guard behind him stepped from his slouch against the wall. “Now, now, Prince Noctis,” the guard began to warn. 

“Back off,” Ignis commanded, drawing himself up as tall as his twelve-year-old frame could muster. “This could be dangerous,” he added, waving the other man way without looking back. He then focused all his attention on the child in front of him. “Prince Noctis, you have to control yourself. You could hurt someone like this.” 

“Then get out!” shrieked the prince. “Leave me alone.” 

“NO!” Ignis shouted, equally loud. 

Noctis shrieked wordlessly, and the tang in the air deepened. Ignis vaguely heard the man behind him yelling but he couldn’t spare him any attention. Instead he dropped his bags and raised his own fists, seeking the calm in his mind that he knew he would need. Another blast of energy raced towards Ignis. This time it was cold, a wide spray of glittering ice. 

Ignis held his fists up in from of his torso and face just as the blast hit him. He had been hit by elemental energy before, many times by his own misapplied force, but never anything close to this powerful. It quickly overwhelmed his attempt to absorb it. He could feel it tearing at his flesh, turning his skin raw. 

Then it stopped. Ignis warily opened his eyes to see the prince staring at him, eyes wide in horror. He lowered his fists slowly. His arms, from his fingertips to his elbows were a deep, painful red, already beginning to blister. 

“I--,” began the prince. 

Ignis took in a lungful of air. It burned, everything suddenly dry and raspy. “Are you finished?” he croaked. 

Noctis did not answer, but he trembled, his eyes still wide and frightened. Swallowing down the pain and outrage, Ignis approached the bed again. Firmly he asked, “Where-is-your nurse?” 

“She didn’t show up this morning.” 

Ignis absorbed that. The prince’s nurse had been a no-call-no-show. But why had no one done anything? Why had he been allowed to wallow in bed all morning, presumably ignored until he had soiled himself? 

With a glare, Ignis turned back to face the guard. The man raised his hands helplessly. “I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t need her.” 

At that, Ignis turned back to the prince, who was studiously not looking at him. 

Ignis sighed, his decision already made. He walked over and grabbed the wheelchair from its place. His hands screamed at him, but he ignored the pain. Pain was just a sensation like hot or cold, and it could be ignored. Ignis dragged the wheelchair next the bed, avoiding the already melting pile of ice. Noctis tensed as he approached, but Ignis ignored him for now, instead turning back around to rummage through the dresser. There, he found a new change of clothes, and even a box of wet wipes and a towel. 

As he came to stand back over the prince, he commanded, “Sit up, Prince Noctis.” Noctis glared mutinously at him, but Ignis just deepened his own glare. “I’m not afraid of you, Prince Noctis. I never have been. So when I tell you that if you don’t sit up within the next thirty seconds, please believe me that I will do my best to force you. I probably don't have the physical strength to accomplish that if you fight me, but I’d rather not go down that road, would you?” 

Noctis sat up. He made a face as he had to drag himself through the wet spot, his cheeks turning red from humiliation. Ignis didn’t comment on it. He simply reached over and helped the prince slide further down the bed to where it was clean. Then he removed the prince’s pajamas. There, Noctis hesitated again, but when Ignis did not change his demeanor in anyway, he allowed himself to be undressed. 

Ignis was clinical as he took the wet wipe to the child. Noctis kept his face hidden, refusing to look at Ignis while he worked, and Ignis did not try to make him engage in any sort of conversation. He just silently continued his work, next helping the prince into clean clothes and then onto the wheelchair. Before he was lifted, Noctis said quietly, “You have to engage the breaks.” 

Ignis did that, and then helped the boy into his wheelchair. He turned, studied the bed, then with a “humph” noise, began to tear off the sheets, rolling them into a ball. He walked the ball to the guard, who was nervously twisting his hands, and said, “Take this to the laundry and fetch me a new set.” 

The guard huffed, “Master Scientia, I am not allowed to leave my post under any circumstance.” 

Ignis cut him off with a look. “That wasn’t a request. Come back with new sheets.” Before the guard could protest, he dumped the sheets into his arms, forcing the man to grab them or let them drop to the floor. Then without looking back, he turned and walked back to the prince. Noctis was watching the interaction, his lip twitching strangely. Ignis vaguely heard the door slam as he took the handle of the wheelchair and rolled Noctis to his customary spot before the balcony door. Once there, Ignis collapsed next to the prince. 

Gods, his hands burned. As he tried to find a way to sit that hurt the least, Noctis said, “That’s it? You’re just going to sit there?” 

Ignis’s reply was tired. Without looking over, he asked, “Are you going to practice your Elemancy with me?” 

“No.” 

“Then as always, Prince Noctis—.” 

“Noctis.” 

“Noctis,” Ignis amended. “As always, I will most certainly sit here for an hour. Perhaps you would like to play a math game with me?” 

“Does your hand hurt?” Noctis asked instead. 

“Yes,” Ignis admitted, not seeing the point of hiding it. Noctis should have to face the consequences of his actions. If he had done that anyone else, someone who hadn’t been able to absorb even the small amount that Ignis had, he could have seriously hurt them. 

“I’m sorry,” the prince said in a very small voice. 

Ignis looked at him. The prince looked even more fragile than usual, curled up as much as his useless legs would allow. “I forgive you,” the older teen replied with a sigh. 

Before either one could say anything else, the door opened again. They both turned to look. The guard walked back in the room with Clarus Amicitia at his heels. Amicitia has a blue vial in his hands. Seeing Ignis, he gave an exasperated look, then hurried over. “I swear, you two will turn me gray, yet.” He handed the vial to Ignis and said brusquely, “Drink.” 

“You’re already gray,” commented Noctis, surprising Ignis that he would speak at all. 

Ignis screwed the lip off the vial. It smelled astringent and, well, —magical. There was no other word really to describe it. He downed the thing in one long gulp. It tasted vile, horribly bitter and somehow revoltingly bubbly. Grimacing, he raised his hands, only to see the excruciating blisters melt away before his eyes in rush of strangely soothing chill. “Huh,” he muttered under his breath. 

“Oh shut up,” Amicitia was saying to the prince, his tone fond. He faced the guard, all trace of fondness fading away. “Now explain to me again exactly why I was not informed when Ms. Plasencia did not report for duty this morning?” 

It turned out that there had been a serious string of miscommunications and lack of protocol. The guard who had allowed Noctis to persuade him not to inquire further was quietly let go, and new procedures put in place. Ignis never learned what, if anything, ever happened to the woman who had simply not shown up for work. But the next day there was a new young woman there to help the prince. She was bubbly and kind and Noctis treated her like a coach roach he was unable to reach to kill and must simply ignore. 

Ignis wished he could convince Noctis to handle her a bit kindlier, but the prince barely seemed to tolerate him half the time as it was. Noctis was cold to Ignis for the few days after the bed wetting incident, but eventually they settled back down into their truce. 

*** 

Still, something did change after that. As Ignis continued to show up, day after day, never allowing Noctis to drive him away with harsh words, but also refusing to tolerate such behavior, Noctis became more and more tractable. Instead of punishing the eight-year-old with silence, Ignis eventually could simply give him a look and watch the prince swallow down whatever foul words he had been about to utter. 

Ignis started to collect things when he wasn’t with Noctis so that he could bring them back to show the prince. Once it was a shiny rock he had picked up while walking over a bridge. Then it was a paper crane that Ignis had made after checking out a book on origami from the library. That occupied them for several days as they worked their way through the book together. 

One day Ignis arrived to see that the prince was strangely tense. His fists were balled up in his lap, hiding something. “What do you have there?” Ignis asked him as he sat down next to the wheelchair. 

Noctis face was a blotchy, ugly red. “It’s stupid,” he muttered, nervously squeezing whatever it was he held. 

“May I see it?” 

Noctis grumbled, but he handed it over without looking. It was a hat. Even uglier than the one Ignis had made all those months ago. The tension of the stitching was atrocious. In places it had run and not been caught again. 

Noctis spoke so quietly that Ignis almost didn’t catch his words. “I made it like you said. With happy thoughts.” His eyes flashed up, and he made as if to grab the hat back. “Never mind, it’s dumb. Just forget about it.” 

Ignis snatched the hat away before the prince could grab it. “This is for me?” he asked, not quite believing it. 

“If you want it.” Noctis tried very hard to look like he didn’t care one way or the other. 

“And it has—,” Ignis gulped the words, attempting not to sound incredulous that his silly falsehood had stuck with the prince all this time, “magic in it? Like mine?” 

Noctis shrugged. “I tried anyway. I couldn’t tell it if actually worked.” 

Gods, sometimes Ignis forgot just how _young_ Noctis really was. With a grin, he took the hat and slid it on his head. It was horribly, uncomfortably tight. “Hmn,” he said. Noctis couldn’t hide the interest in his eyes as he fretfully watched Ignis turn this way and that. “You know, I do believe you managed to put some magic in this hat. Obviously not as skillfully as myself. The Scientia family art is not the easiest to learn you know, but you’ve really put a spark in there. Thank you, Noctis. I’ll treasure this for sure.” 

Noctis turned away, but not before Ignis saw his smile. “Whatever,” he grumbled. 

*** 

One day, Ignis and Noctis were sitting outside on Prince Noctis’s balcony when the prince said very suddenly, “If I had been able to use my magic, I could have saved Ms. Megara. But I didn't.” 

Ms. Megara was the nurse who had been killed by the Marilith daemon. One of the gossipier Crownsguard had told Ignis that they found the Prince drenched in her blood, that she had been killed right on top of him. “What do you mean?” Ignis asked him very carefully. 

“I could have blasted it away or something,” the prince said. At Ignis’s skeptical look, he mumbled, “I don’t know, something.” 

Ignis mulled over the right words to say, then realized there weren’t any truly right words. “If your father had gotten there a few seconds earlier, then he could have saved your legs.” 

Noctis snorted, his balled fists running down his pants leg. “I guess.” 

“Does that make you angry?” Ignis asked. “The he wasn’t fast enough, that he wasn’t better?” 

Noctis actually looked confused. “I’m not mad at him. He’s mad at me.” 

Ignis couldn’t help but blink at that one. His face mirrored his charge’s. “Why do you think your father is angry with you?” 

With an uncomfortable shrug, the prince responded, “He doesn’t spend time with me anymore. They always blame it on war stuff or emergencies, but I’m not stupid. He keeps making excuses. And when he does come, he doesn’t look at me.” 

“Oh Noct,” Ignis said, for the first time using the prince’s nickname. It made the eight-year-old jerk his head back up and meet Ignis’s eyes. “He could never be angry with you, not the way you fear. That’s not how fathers work. I think he’s just very sad, and he doesn’t know very well how to show you that.” When Noctis did not respond, he changed tactics and asked, “Do you blame him for not saving you earlier?” 

“No.” 

“Then why would you think he blames you for not being saved?” 

The prince just shrugged again. Ignis looked at him unblinkingly, this fragile, broken child. “Noctis?” he said. 

Noctis’s face was blank, expressionless, but his eyes were wet with unshed tears. “Yes?” 

Ignis spoke each word as a separate thing, letting it hover between them. “Will you practice your magic with me?” 

Noctis took an eternity to answer. “Then you would be Clarus’s apprentice. You’d become my advisor.” 

“Yes.” 

“I don’t want to. It makes me think about—it hurts.” 

“I know,” replied Ignis, refusing to look away. 

They held each other’s gazes for a long, long moment. “Okay,” said the prince. 

“Okay,” repeated Ignis. 

*** 

When Councilor Amicitia came in the room, eyes wide and incredulous to see Noctis facing the balcony door, a string of glittering elemental magic in one hand being slowly eased into a magic flask and back out again, he opened his mouth as if to speak. But Ignis saw him before Noctis did, and he shook his head profusely, begging with his eyes. The Shield clamped his mouth just as Noctis turned around. 

Seeing he had an observer, Noctis let the magic fall away, his face morphing into an ugly defensive grimace. Councilor Amicitia swallowed awkwardly then said, “Please excuse the interruption, but I need to have a word with Master Scientia.” 

Ignis glanced at Noctis, then said quietly, “It’s time for me to go anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow, Noctis.” He lowered his voice even further. “I’ll be very happy if you read the next chapter of our book tonight too.” They were still learning in secret, following a lesson plan that had nothing to do with Noctis’s actual tutor. 

Noctis nodded as Ignis gathered his things together. 

Outside the prince’s room, Amicitia said to Ignis, “I almost couldn't believe it when one of my Crownsguard reported to me. The Prince of Stubbornness actually practicing his magic.” 

That explained how the Councilor had known so quickly. Ignis shrugged. “I only apologize that it took me so long, sir.” 

The other man snorted. “Ha. I’ll take a few months over never any day.” His eyes narrowed, assaulting Ignis with the full force of his intelligent gaze. “I believe I owe you something for that, do I not?” 

“Perhaps when the practice has actually paid off.” 

Amicitia’s gaze did not change. “Yes, constantly replacing lightbulbs and wallpaper is beginning to get rather expensive.” 

Ignis held silent. 

“You’re finished with the university, are you not?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

The Shield sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I cannot offer you the position immediately, Master Scientia. I’m sorry if you feel I was misleading earlier. Frankly, I didn’t believe you would hold to that course after spending a large amount of time with the prince.” 

“But I have,” Ignis interrupted. 

“You have,” the other man agreed easily. “But I cannot hire the man who will be Prince Noctis’s closest advisor myself. The King must do that. He already holds a meeting every week with the prince’s other tutors to check on his progress. I’ve been meaning to have you attend those anyway. Come to the King’s study tomorrow at two-o-clock sharp. We’ll talk about it then.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

*** 

Ignis stood in front of the King’s study sure his heart was about to beat out of his chest. He felt his age like a stamp on his forehead as he faced the imposing guards before the door. He didn't belong here. “The King is expecting me,” he said trying for confident and failing miserably. 

The guards’ facial expressions did not change at all, which vaguely disconcerted Ignis. He wasn’t sure if he should leave or just wait here. The longer he stood, the more uncomfortable he became, sweat beginning to gather at the nape of his neck. What was he supposed to do now? 

But suddenly the door opened, and Councilor Amicitia poked his head out. “There you are. You’re late,” he hissed. 

Ignis didn’t bother to argue, choosing to follow the Shield’s hurried motions past the two guards. Their faces still didn’t so much as twitch. 

Inside, the King sat behind an elegant desk, face as expressionless as his son. A heavy, kind looking woman that Ignis recognized as the Elemancy tutor stood before the desk. A far younger, far better dressed woman sat in a chair next to her. Ignis had never met the academic tutor, but he assumed this must be her. The biggest surprise, however, was the youth in the corner. 

Arms folded behind himself, the other boy stood the stiffy. He had the gangliest limbs that Ignis had ever seen, so awkwardly long, but somehow not spindly. He was corded with muscle, though they stretched out like silly putty, and he looked so much like Councilor Amicitia that Ignis didn’t have to wonder if they were related. 

Amicitia gripped Ignis’s shoulder and pointed to the other boy. “Master Scientia, this is Gladiolus, my son, and Prince Noctis’s future weapons tutor when the boy eventually heals from this injury.” 

Ignis did not want to point out that it seemed unlikely that Noctis would ever heal from his spinal injury, but it seemed the Gladiolus had the same thought. The other boy scowled at his father’s words, though he remained silent. _Interesting._

Amicitia ignored his son’s bad manners, directing Ignis’s attention around the room. “You know Willa, the Elemancy tutor, and this is Eileen Auras, the prince’s academic tutor. Everyone, this is Ignis Scientia, Prince Noctis’s Elemancy practice partner. 

Ignis had already met with Willa several times. She was nice enough, if a bit old fashioned, and rather deaf. She nodded with a sweet smile at the Councilor then turned back to face the king. 

As Ignis did the same, he gulped. The King of Lucis did not have his son’s eyes. They were a warm green rather than an unearthly blue. He sat straight-backed and silent behind the desk. Unlike Noctis, there was a stillness to him, a sort of peace and regality. 

The king spared a long, searching glance for Ignis, who eventually realized that he was gaping and hastened into a bow. His eyes on the floor, Ignis thought he heard a snort coming from the corner where Gladiolus stood, but he didn’t have the freedom to look. When Ignis finally straightened back up, he saw that the king had moved on, choosing to engage with the young woman in the chair, Ms. Auras, the tutor. 

“I take it you’ve still had no progress with my son?” he said, his voice rich and deep. 

Ms. Auras bowed her head demurely. “Your Majesty, I regret to inform you that I have not. Unfortunately, Prince Noctis still refuses to engage with anyone who attempts to teach him something, as I’m sure the other people here can attest to. No one wants to hear of their child’s misbehavior, but something must be done to correct this and correct it soon, before irreparable damage is done to his education.” 

“And what do you suggest that something is?” the king asked, still showing no signs of how he felt about the thing one way or the other. 

“Discipline, Your Majesty. The child needs discipline. He should have all toys and trinkets taken away immediately, not just the comic books. I understand this is drastic and difficult to hear, but he should have everything he enjoys taken away from him, and only returned one by one as he chooses to behave. He must learn that children do not command adults.” 

“That’s crazy!” Ignis suddenly found himself two steps closer the desk, his fists balled next to his hips. He trembled, and saw out of the corner of his eyes, the older woman frowning thoughtfully. The academic tutor looked shocked, whereas the king only blinked at the interruption. “He’s a traumatized child! He needs support and love, not your attempt to break what spirit he has left.” 

Ms. Auras’s mouth curled in a way that Ignis instantly hated. “Willfulness is not the same thing as spirit, though I understand your concern, Master—Scientia, was it?” Her voice was silky sweet, the sort of tone one might use with a young child. Ignis refused to bristle at it. “What I am advocating is not an attempt to harm him. They call it tough love for a reason. In the long term, this will be much better for him. Children crave consistency and limits. They thrive under it.” 

Ignis could not stop himself, even though he knew she was doing her best to frame him as a distraught child himself. “Taking away everything he enjoys is not discipline! It’s cruel,” he nearly yelled, unable to tamp down on his passion. 

“I’m sorry if I don’t believe we should take the advice of the prince’s twelve-year-old practice partner who one, is a child himself, and two, has not managed to convince the prince to actually practice with him,” she jabbed back, her voice cool and haughty. 

The king interrupted, silencing both of them. “What exactly is my son behind on in education, Ms. Auras?” 

She took a second to gather herself back together, then said, “Well, he refuses to speak to me during our lessons. I read to him various topics from history or literature, but without the ability to engage with him, I’m not sure how much he is actually absorbing. Math is clearly his weakest subject at the moment, as it is impossible to even begin to teach without cooperation. He should be able to do simple addition and subtraction higher than ten, multiplication, fractions. As of now, he can do none of that.” 

Ignis felt calm settle in his stomach like a cold weight. From the corner of his eye, he saw Clarus move to stand next to his son, his expression strangely tense. Ignis spoke abruptly, letting his voice carry over the other woman’s, “Excuse my interruption, but Prince Noctis knows his multiplication tables just fine, Ms. Auras.” 

The king’s eyes slid back to Ignis, but this time Ignis held himself square in the face of the intensity of being under scrutiny. Beside him, Ms. Auras actually snorted. “It was cute the first time you spoke as if you have some expertise in teaching, Mr. Scientia,” she said, her voice still that grating sweet, “But the adults are speaking now.” 

Ignis kept is voice as bland as possible. “Apologies, Ms. Auras. I just assumed you would like to be corrected where you are wrong. By all means, carry on.” 

She scowled at his words, but turned back to the king. “As I was saying, he should be learning to add and subtract fractions and also transitioning from multiplication to division.” 

When she fell silent, the king ponderously met Ignis’s gaze again. “Master Scientia, you seem to have something to say to this.” 

“As she so kindly reminded me, Ms. Auras is the expert, Your Majesty,” Ignis said. That weight was still in his stomach, his mind strangely buzzing. All of the sudden, it seemed so easy to keep his cool, to play this game against the other tutor. “If she says the only way to make Prince Noctis learn is to force him into submission, who am I to argue? Though I will say, I’m not quite sure what more Ms. Auras expects the prince to be able to do with adding and subtracting fractions. He seemed perfectly capable of it last I checked. Though I suppose since I am a silly child myself, and since I have no use for the sort of discipline she advocates, I must be mistaken.” 

That might have been laying on the sarcasm a bit thick, but Ignis was on a roll at this point, and he just couldn’t help himself. 

The king sighed. “Well, it seems we have a disagreement to the facts. Clarus, perhaps you would be so kind as to go and fetch my son?” 

“Certainly, Your Majesty.” With that, the Shield disappeared. 

While he was gone, the King turned to the old Elemancy tutor and said far louder, “You’ve been rather silent to this debate, Willa. You know how I value your opinion. What say you?” 

“Hmn,” she replied. Then rather than adding her opinion, she leaned over and grabbed Ignis’s sleeve. He was too shocked by the action to stop her as she narrowed her eyes in apparent concentration. When she spoke, it was like she was trying to shout across a football field. “Master Scientia, you should have told me you finally wrangled that stubborn boy into practicing. It’s fine that he doesn’t want an old hoot like me, but we should make sure you have the right exercises to practice with him.” With that, she smiled openly at Ignis. 

“How do you—?” he began uneasily, but she had curled gnarled fingers into his sleeve, and to his amazement, she was drawing tiny pin pricks of blue-silver magic from his skin, pulling from him like he was a magic flask. The magic swirled around her fingers as he gaped at her. Ignis had never seen such perfect control in his life. For the first time, he truly understood how such an old, fragile woman had been hired to teach the prince his elemental magic. 

“You can't hide such things from these old eyes,” she said conspiratorially, though of course, she was so loud that the guards in the hall probably heard her. 

“You got him to practice magic with you?” Ms. Auras repeated incredulously from the other side of Ignis. Ignis chose not to respond, meeting her gaze silently as the door opened back up to reveal Councilor Amicitia pushing Noctis’s wheelchair. 

“Hello, Noctis,” the king said, and for the first time there was true emotion in his voice. 

Noctis stared at his father before circling the room with his gaze, finally landing on Ignis, his expression unsure. Ignis tried to give him a reassuring look. 

“Hi,” Noctis finally answered his father. In this crowded room, the prince seemed even smaller than usual. 

“Son, your tutors and I were having a bit of a debate about the direction to take your studies in. Master Scientia here seems to think you are much farther along that your other tutor does. Is that true?” 

Noctis shrugged. 

The king continued, “He says you know your multiplication tables already?” 

Noctis shrugged again. 

Ignis suddenly wondered if he had made a huge mistake. Noctis indeed knew his multiplication tables, but it meant jack squat if he refused to show it. Just because he cooperated when he and Ignis were alone didn’t mean he would now do so in front of all these people. Ignis desperately wished he could ask them all except for the king to leave, but he knew that wasn’t how this was going to play out. He could barely breathe as he watched the subtle emotions travel across the young child’s face. 

The tutor suddenly broke in. “Tell me, Prince Noctis, what is seven times seven?” 

Rather that answering her, Noctis looked at Ignis. Ignis nodded minutely at him, and so Noctis turned back around, speaking in his most flat, unconcerned voice. “Forty-nine.” 

The woman blinked at him. “Eight times nine,” she spat out. 

His answer came almost immediately. “Seventy-two.” 

“Twelve times six?” 

“Also seventy-two.” 

Ignis said sweetly. “Perhaps you’d like to ask him to add one-fourth plus one-eighth next.” 

Before she could respond, Noctis answered, “Three-eights. Are we done yet?” 

Ignis held the tutor’s eyes as he spoke. “I’m not sure Noctis, Ms. Auras might want you to also explain the causes of the third century civil war as well. Or let her know what you think about Saga of Gilgamesh that you’ve been reading in your spare time.” 

“You ingrate,” she hissed. 

“Enough,” commanded the king, his tone allowing no argument. “Noctis, thank you very much for that demonstration. I still have some things to discuss and finish up here, but when I’m done, why don’t we have an early dinner together? Would you like that?” 

Noctis nodded, and then Councilor Amicitia led him away again. 

Once they were alone again, Ignis felt the eyes of everyone in the room on him. It was Willa, the Elemancy master, who broke the silence. She suddenly burst into cackling laughter. “Oh boy, I haven’t seen a verbal murder like that in years. Impressive, my boy. Impressive.” 

Ms. Auras’ indignant glare was menacing, but the old woman seemed to take no notice, instead cheerily saying, “Well, Eileen, the boy has discovered his way into the prince’s heart, no doubt about that. It seems the old saying is true. You do catch more flies with honey.” 

“Or perhaps he has used that influence to convince the prince not to cooperate with anyone but himself, jeopardizing the prince’s health and education to score a few political points.” 

Ignis jerked back. “First I am an ignorant child too stupid to have insight, and now I’m some sort of evil mastermind? Which is it?” 

“Everyone but Master Scientia out,” said the king. The other tutor gave Ignis one last hot look before shuffling out. The Elemancy master just grinned, and the boy in the back seemed troubled, but he obeyed with the others. Ignis had almost forgotten he was even there. 

The king gave Ignis a deep, searching look. Ignis felt like the other man could see in the his very soul. It made him realize that those eyes were far more like Noct’s than he had originally thought. “Did you manipulate my son into refusing to cooperate with anyone but yourself?” 

Ignis swallowed, his throat suddenly completely dry. “No," he replied, having to fight to force the words out. “But I didn’t discourage it either.” 

“Why?” 

“Because he was angry. And angry was better than empty.” 

Ignis refused to hide as the king stared at him. Finally, the king nodded. “Clarus tells me you wish to become his apprentice in his role as the king’s advisor.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty. Provided Noctis agrees as well.” 

“He already has.” 

“Oh.” 

The king smiled. “Yes, oh. You’re to be given a salary, Ignis Scientia, an official position, and a room in the East quarters. You will report directly to Clarus Amicitia, and him only, as well as anyone council ranked or higher. Do you understand?” 

Ignis trembled. “Yes, Your Majesty.” 

“Good.” 

*** 

Clarus was waiting for him when he emerged from the king’s study. Ignis felt like his brain has ceased functioning. Perhaps this was what it was to be drunk. The Shield fell into a rhythm with Ignis as they walked down the corridor together. 

“You knew?” Ignis said suddenly. 

“I knew what?” 

“That Noctis and I were studying together. You knew exactly what we were doing,” Ignis confronted. They kept walking. 

The Shield did not deny it. “Of course, I knew. As did the king. With Noctis as vulnerable as he is right now, you think we don’t know everything that goes on in that room?” 

“You didn't know his caretaker failed to come to work.” 

At that, Clarus did actually stop. He turned to face Ignis and said, “That was a mistake. The King was in the middle of highly important negotiations with the royal family of Tenebrae. He wasn’t in the Citadel at the time. And I was busy dealing with a border wall skirmish that morning. I had just gotten back when the guard found me. Still, it was unforgivable, you’re absolutely right. But that’s why I need people I can trust around the prince. He isn't the easiest person to love, and I need to know that those around him care about him.” 

“The tutor?” 

Clarus scoffed. “She was recommended by a very important nobleman. One who controls the steel trade for half of our weapons. We couldn’t afford to insult him. But my son can't keep his mouth shut to save his life, and neither will Willa. Soon it’ll be everywhere how she was humiliated by a twelve-year-old. She won't have a leg to stand on when she goes back to her patron with her tail between her legs.” 

“You used me.” 

“I gave you an opportunity, and you succeeded beyond my wildest expectations. I’ve always been an excellent judge of character, Ignis Scientia. And I’ve known that I’m dealing with the next Councilor and Advisor to the King since the first day I met you.” 

Ignis could only stare at him, completely unsure of how to react to that. The man snorted again. “Get some rest. My day starts at six in the morning, which means that yours does too. I expect you in my office every day at that time. You’ll have Sundays off only. Can you handle that?” 

Ignis thought about the fragile boy on the other side of the Citadel. “I look forward to it, sir.” 

*** 

It turned out that those negotiations with Tenebrae involved the help of their royal family’s healing magic. Noctis and his father traveled there within a few weeks of Ignis becoming his official tutor and advisor in training. Noctis came back from that trip with even more trauma than before but also the use of his legs. 

And Ignis simply kept working, increasingly doing more of the daily tasks around Noct’s care. His job didn’t change, though he saw more and more of the young Amicitia heir as Noctis undertook physical therapy and began weapons training. 

Noctis didn’t heal overnight. In fact, he never truly completely healed, but he had less nightmares over time, and he regained control of his Elemancy magic. He became less caustic to those around him, showing his sweeter, shyer nature. He stayed small and delicate boned, but thanks to Gladio’s hard work, he gained muscle definition under those thin limbs, and he slowly but surely grew into his gangly legs and arms. 

As Noctis hit puberty and then became a full-on teenager, Ignis knew that the prince was objectively beautiful. And he knew deep down inside where he hid his most precious feelings from himself, that he was attracted to the young prince. But it wasn’t because of Noctis’s soft black hair or his delicate features. It was his eyes. Always his eyes, still so wild and untamable. Ignis drowned in them. They had their own magic and Ignis was spellbound before their power. 

Noctis had everything of Ignis’s that had ever mattered, willingly given. His heart, his soul. And Ignis could never be sorry for that. 

*** 

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are, as always, appreciated. :D


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